Trick or Treat

Today J woke up sick, and I was happy.  A sick kid meant I didn't have to deal with Halloween.  But by the afternoon, he was better and thinking about his costume.  He finally decided to be a Zombie Soccer Goalie with an Easter bag from Kroger to use to carry his loot.  I did a pretty good job on his make up if I do say so myself!

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But then we started trick or treating.  It was a cold, windy, and overcast night and there weren't many kids out.  K is staying with Grandma for the weekend, so J just had me.  It hit me, watching him walk up and down driveways that Luke should be walking with him, they should be giggling and making monster noises as they beg strangers for candy.

It wasn't long after that J asked if I wanted his Reese Cups.  I said, “No thank you.”  He asked a few more times and finally asked why.  I explained that was Luke’s favorite candy, and I couldn't eat them because of that.  I asked if he wanted me to take them to work for the techs.  He thought for a few minutes and asked if we could take them to Luke’s grave, tomorrow because it would be too creepy to go on Halloween night.  “Of course.” I told him, we will go tomorrow afternoon.  As I was going through his candy after we came home, I decided Reese Cups were on clearance…… he had about 20 full size Reece Cup singles.

I hate seeing J do things alone he should be doing with his little brother.  This new normal really sucks.

PTSD

I haven't really talked about how J and K are doing since Luke’s accident.  I try to respect their privacy, especially since I am always telling them once you put it on the internet, it is out there Forever.  But I feel like I should talk about J for this post.  He was diagnosed with PTSD a little over a year ago.  He saw Luke drown in front of him, he tried to save his baby brother and failed.  He saw them sticking Luke with needles and putting tubes all over his little body. He saw them shocking him, he saw the CPR and the doctor’s and nurse’s faces while they worked.  He stood next to me while Luke took his final breathes.  That is a lot for an adult, I can’t imagine what it was like for a 9 year old boy.  From the time Luke was born, he was J’s best friend.  There was NEVER any jealousy on J’s part.  He took his role as big brother seriously.  He was Luke’s best friend, protector, cheerleader and co-conspirator.

After Luke died, I immediately put all three of us in therapy.  Due to insurance constraints, we have had a few therapists…. The most recent is Thelma.  She specializes in childhood trauma and is working on her Doctorate degree in Psychology.  She is the most patient, caring person I have ever met.  She has been good for J and me. 

That said, J and Thelma are doing hard work, talking about the day Luke drowned.  They have been working on that day for the last 2 months.  J finally had a breakthrough Friday and was able to name a feeling, an emotion about that day.  He has struggled with that for the last 15 months.  We are both SO proud of him!  On the dark side though….. This has been very, very hard on him.  He is not handling things well.  My once sweet, huggy, wouldn't hurt a fly child is struggling with anger towards himself, his dad, his sister and me about that day.

I have told him so many times it wasn't his fault, it should be ingrained in his head.  I have told him the same amount of times that his dad did not mean for Luke to get hurt and die, that he made a very bad decision.  J is mad at his sister for not going that weekend, not being there to save Luke.  He is mad at me for making them go with their dad that weekend.  He hasn't said he was mad at Luke, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was, that is a normal part of grief.  Luke left him here and is in Heaven with grandpa and papaw.  Crap, I am kinda jealous about that!

This weekend has been horrible.  There are so many triggers for his PTSD, it is like living in a minefield.  It has been one outburst after another.  He has spent more time in his room calming down than he has in the 3 years we have lived here.

I would appreciate any and all prayers for my kids…..  we have a long road ahead of us.

My Point of View

My Point of View

Written by Jonathan T. Zimmerman

I am Luke’s brother.  I was there when Luke drowned in the Wabash River.  I know exactly what happened and not what my dad thinks and he was there too.  My mom’s blog is all about Luke and how I told her how it happened.  I kinda forgot a few parts of it.  Like about the part where I was in 6 feet of water and if I wasn't in water, I would have had a concussion because I slipped on a rock and I floated to the bottom.  Which is where I found Luke.  So I tried to pick Luke up on my back, and if you have ever tried to pick up a kid in water, it is impossible, so I fell in again. And then, I finally got the strength to get out of the water and yell and cuss a little under my breath at my dad. (Sorry about that Mama.)  Anyways, I finally got out, ran up to my dad, he was busy playing games on his phone, I had to get his attention by getting out of the water, getting up as far as I could on the ramp, and yell at him.  It took about 30 seconds for him to realize what was going on.  And I yelled Thomas.  He finally went and got Luke out of the water. 

I told dad to give me his phone and I called 911.  They came, and then I called my mom.  When the fire trucks got there, it was weird.  I had never seen that many cars in the same place at the same time.  I could hear them pumping on Luke’s chest.  I once heard them yell he is not breathing, and a paramedic ran at him and had these little things and shocked him.  Then they put him in a fire truck and ran.  There wasn't enough ambulances because a trailer fell into the river. 

A policeman took me to the hospital, this was the third time I got to ride in a police car and I wasn't arrested!  At the hospital, I saw a whole bunch of tubes sticking out of Luke’s body. And I got free food.  I saw a whole lot of doctors.  They were shocking Luke.  They were saying clear.  I was outside the room with my dad.  I felt horrible.  Because it all happened so fast.  I didn't feel scared, just horrible.  

Friday Night

Tom came.  On Friday night, after K asked to see her dad, he came.  My mom was here, Thelma (one of our new therapists, she picked Thelma from Thelma and Louise.) J was here.  It was awkward, tense and stressful.

He sat in the corner of the living room, I sat in my chair, K, grandma and Thelma sitting on the couch.  K tried and tried pushing his buttons, trying to get some kind of reaction.  Telling him of the last year, how hard things have been, how much she has struggled.  He sat, nodded and smiled.  There was no reaction.

J talked, played on his dad's phone and told him about his last year.  He skirted over the hard stuff.

The tension kept getting thicker.  The kids were sent outside to play.  Grandma went first.  18 years of words bottled up for so long were finally let loose.  Lines were drawn, the gauntlet thrown down.  When the steam ran out, I started.  While you have destroyed our family twice now, you go about your business, living your life like nothing has happened.  I am left to pick up the pieces, to put our kids back together again.  I blame myself for Luke's accident, J blames himself, K blames herself.  What responsibility do you take?  Excuses, might as well be crickets.  More excuses, no responsibility.  I am not surprised.  K appears indifferent, but I know her heart is breaking.  She wants to be a daddy's girl, and I have failed her in that.  I gave her a dad who has no idea what a precious gift she truly is.  J only knows how to relate to him with sports, but J is not a sports person.  Remind Tom of that.... anger seethes, face turns red, hands yank on fingers and pants.  Nothing has changed.  Nothing will ever change.

Have you been to Luke's grave?  Have you seen his stone?  If you are going to see it before it gets dark, you should leave now.

Kids in hives, stress of the weekend finally coming out.  Not able to say what needed to be said, manifests itself in their little bodies.

I can tell my kids all day and night dad is not going to change, he will always be like that.  But they will have to learn it for themselves.  I won't keep them from a relationship, but the rules have changed.

Fine Line

This is for Thelma.

There is a fine line between love and hate.  A fleeting flutter in your stomach, a quickening of the pulse, a catch in a breath.  Is it love, the first blush of love and adoration?  Or is it hate?  Is it possible to love a person who has caused so much hurt?  

The anticipation of the coming, the arrival.  Is it excitement or dread?  Is it possible that's it both?  

The dreams, the expectations, the reality. Rarely are they ever the same, or even similar. Once in love, now in despair.  Once a whole, now broken.

The stress, the fear, the pain.  Reality sets in, the despair becomes palpable.  

Face to face, anger replaces love.  Nothing will ever be the same. Nothing will ever be the same.

Let it go, let the tears flow. Learn to forgive, there is nothing to be gained by holding on.  Say your piece, say it all.  Let it go.  

Resigned to change, nothing is the same. Move on, let it go.  There is nothing to be gained by holding on. Let it go.  

There is a fine line between love and hate. Learn to love again, let the hate go.

Memories

Sometimes my memories of Luke are so strong I can feel him leaning on me.  When I sit down to do homework, all of a sudden I will feel him leaning on my arm, asking how much longer because he wants to play on the computer.  I will see him running down the hallway and hear his silly giggle.  Our home is full of Luke memories, there is no place to hide from them.

I struggle with loving the memories that feel like he is here with wondering if he really is hanging around.  In my soul, I know my baby is safe in Heaven, surrounded by family and friends who went before him.  He is probably making the angels crazy trying to talk them out of their wings and swords.  But my heart and sometimes my mind want him here with me, even in spirit form.  What if he gets a day pass to come visit us, what if the goosebumps really are Lukie hanging on my arm or giving me a hug?

The past year has been the worst year of my life.  The kids still struggle with the loss of their brother and best friend.  J has PTSD and more anger than should ever be bottled up in a little boy. K struggles with guilt for not going that weekend and anger.  We have new counselors, yay insurance....  They have been good though.  We had Snap, Crackle and Pop at first because I fought to get them.  They knew the kids, they knew me, and most importantly, they knew Luke.  The new counselors are brand new and have experience and specialized in Traumatic Grief and PTSD.  I think they are going to prove to be invaluable in our future.

Grief and Life after Loss

Earlier today, I shared a post on Facebook about grief and losing friends after a loss.  It could describe my life to a tee.  Some people used Luke's accident and death to make themselves look good, while they were there for the kids and me in the hospital, then quickly disappeared again, and others have just stopped talking to me, and others have tried to get closer so they can be in the know, or to make themselves look good or feel better about themselves.  There has been a small, core group of people who have truly been there for me.  They have dealt with my tears, my mood swings and my crazy ramblings.  I am incredibly grateful for them.

However, I am getting the feeling that they think I should be "Over it" by now.  After all, Luke has been gone for over a year now.  We have been through all is first milestone's.  There should not be any more bad days.  Or they should be few and far between.  When I am having a bad time, it is an excuse to get out of something.

Here's the thing. I am NOT over losing my baby boy.  I will NEVER get over it.  I know from experience, the pain will lessen, it will become more bearable and I will be able to breathe on a regular basis.  But that will take years.  Even then, there will still be days that take my breath away.  The day his class graduates high school, when Jon and Katie get married, have babies, other life events where there is a hole where Luke should be.  

There are still days when it is like a sucker punch to the gut.  Days when the grief becomes too much to bear, when I can barely pull myself from the bed, much less walk to the living room or beyond.  I don’t know what else to say except until you have walked a day in my “Ugly Shoes”, don’t judge my grief.

Ugly Shoes

A Pair of Shoes

I am wearing a pair of shoes.
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable shoes.
I hate my shoes.

Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.

Yet, I continue to wear them.


I get funny looks wearing these shoes. They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.


To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in this world.


Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think
about how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.


Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.

366 Days

That is how many days have passed since I buried my youngest son.  366 days ago, I stood at my dad's grave and watched Luke's body be lowered into the ground.  It is 370 days since Luke took a breath. I can no longer say, "This time last year, Luke..."  This time last year I was still in shock that I had buried my baby.  This time last year, I called the kids in from playing and hollered, "Katie, Johnny, Luke... time to come in."  As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized what I said.  That has happened a few times since.

My plan was to take the first 10 days of August off and focus on Jon and Katie and grieve Luke. Unfortunately, life got in the way of that, and we were busier than we were the entire summer.

I sense Luke often, silly things happen, doors won't shut, volume goes up and down.  The kids are convinced Luke is still here causing mischief.  But I know he is in heaven with Jesus and his grandpa and papaw.  But it is nice to think he comes and visits sometimes.

School starts in 3 days for the kids.  I am not looking forward to the first day.  This was Jon and Luke's last year together at Okolona.  Next year, I was supposed to have a child in elementary, middle and high school.  This new normal really stinks.

New Normal

Sitting down to supper the other night, Katie said it felt like normal, except it wasn't.  We have struggled the last 10 months with meal time.  I have a hard time going in the kitchen where Lukie used to stand next to me begging to help or for a taste or both.  He would bring me cookbooks and show me what we would make next.  He would tell me I needed to be on Worst Cooks in America because I was such a good cook, I would surely win!

Because it has been so hard to go in the kitchen, we have had a lot of sandwiches and cereal.  But I am trying to get back in the groove of cooking, mostly because the kids try to burn the house down when I let them make mac and cheese.

Shells and Cheese minus the water

Then there was the Easy Chocolate pie that was supposed to have three Tablespoons of Cocoa Powder, not three CUPS.  That should look like chocolate soup.

Easy Chocolate Pie

The hole in our family dynamic is huge.  At least once a day someone says, "Luke would love that." or "Do you remember when Luke..."  We have talked about setting a place at the table for Luke, just to remember him, but they aren't to excited about that yet.  Maybe later. Definitely for holidays.  

Jonathan is still adjusting to not sharing his room with anyone.  We still call it the boys room and the boys bathroom.  I have and will always have three kids.  Katie will always have two brothers, and Jon will always be a big and little brother.  He is not my youngest, he is still my middle child.

We have packed up most of Luke's things, there is a box in the hallway filled with Luke clothes my cousin is going to make into a quilt when I finally send them to her.  We found all the pieces to his favorite toys and his pillow pets decorate my couch.  I sleep with his two favorite stuffed animals, Austin and Mario from Build-A-Bear.



Today we went to Kentucky Kingdom.  Jon and Katie had a blast, but I kept thinking I should be counting three heads all day, especially in the water park.  It took everything I had to let them play in the water park.  I sat my self by the life guards, ready to push them in to save my kid in a heart beat.  At one point, I couldn't find Jonathan and couldn't breath.  He was fine...  I don't want them to be fearful, I don't want them to be scared of the water...  they need to play and have fun and the water is fun when it is 89 degrees!

Yesterday someone asked me if I had two kids.  I thought for a brief second, "Do I want to tell them about Luke?  Do I want to go into that story at work?" Then I said, "Yes."  The reality is, I have five kids, two babies I lost in pregnancy, Jon, Katie, and Luke.  I have FIVE kids.  Three just happen to already be home in Heaven waiting for the rest of us.

Luke's day, the day we took him off life support is coming faster than I like.  Up until then, I can say we did this with Luke last year.  After that day, it will be over a year since I have held my baby boy in my arms, over a year since I have kissed his head and nose and heard him say he will always be my baby bubberbutt.

I am really not liking this new normal.